The Black Widow
by Lady of Lorule
Summary: The Winter Soldier is enlisted to help train the young assassins in the Red Room and Natalia Romanova is determined to be the next Black Widow. But a fatal mistake is made: when he leaves the Red Room, his memory of her isn't wiped.
1. Chapter 1

"Girls, we have a special guest today," Headmistress said, walking into the bedroom. All of the girls snapped to attention, a general sense of excitement among them. A guest was a rare thing in the Red Room. And it was always interesting when they had one.

Only one girl seemed immune to the anticipation. Little Natalia Romanova stood rigidly, her young face void of emotion, waiting patiently for the Headmistress to announce the guest. She was ten years old and already a skilled assassin, with the most successful missions in her group. The other girls avoided her. No one could tell if that bothered Natalia or not. After all, she was a spy, too.

"He will be spending a few weeks with us," she continued, and if any of the girls were any less disciplined, they would have gasped. A man. Men were usually only brought in as subjects for the girls to practice their torture and interrogation skills on.

A dark shadow appeared in the doorway behind Headmistress. Knives appeared in small, calloused hands. She kept talking.

"He will help you with your training. I expect you to treat him like you would any important guest," Headmistress said calmly, but the girls understood that that was an order. The knives disappeared, but all the girls were still tense. "You may call him the Winter Soldier."

He stepped into the room. He was imposing, towering over the rather tall Headmistress, seeming almost like a giant to the young girls. His left arm was an incredible contraption of overlapping metal that gleamed menacingly in the dim lighting. His dark hair brushed his shoulders and his lifeless, brown eyes stared straight ahead. The girls would have recoiled, but that was a sign of weakness. They were not weak. They were predators. But they could tell that the Winter Soldier was at the top of the food chain.

Natalia was the only one who didn't look away from him. She didn't even mean to, but she found herself staring at him. Only Headmistress's voice snapped her out of her trance.

"Training begins in ten minutes," she declared, turning and striding out of the room, the Winter Soldier following like an ominous shadow in her wake.

The girls immediately began getting dressed, not bothering to question the fact that it was midnight and they had been training since dawn.

* * *

"A weak performance," Headmistress declared as the Winter Soldier slammed a girl into the floor. No cry of pain or labored breathing cut through the silence of the training room. Pain was a weakness they were taught not to have. And nobody had heard the Winter Soldier so much as grunt.

Some girls had begun spreading rumors that he was a mute. That his handlers had taken his voice to make him a better assassin. Natalia would have told them they were wrong, if they had been worth her time. She could tell his voice worked just fine from observation. She knew why he didn't talk, from personal experience. He was silent for the same reason she sometimes didn't speak for weeks at a time; they simply had nothing to say. Just because neither of them spoke much didn't mean they didn't have the ability to. Natalia wondered when the last time he had spoken had been. If it had been weeks since a word left his mouth, like her. She thought it might be even longer for him, months, or maybe even years. Did his voice sound as foreign to him as hers did to her?

"Get up," Headmistress commanded the girl, without any sympathy in her voice. She scrambled to her feet and joined the other girls standing by the wall, despite the steady trickling of bright blood coming from her nose.

The Winter Soldier had been there a week and a half. Ten days. Each night, he fought a girl or two. If a girl did particularly well she would fight him again tomorrow. No girl had lasted more than two days. Of course, Natalia hadn't had her turn yet. She had stood perfectly still, day after day, and watched each fight without ever reacting to it. She knew the other girls were betting on how long she would last when it was finally her turn. The longest wager was for four days.

"Since that could hardly be considered a fight and I would hate to waste the Winter Soldier's valuable time," Headmistress said, locking eyes with Natalia, "let us have Natalia go now."

She stepped forward. The room was eerily silent, her footsteps not making a sound. The Winter Soldier watched her approach impassively, towering more than a foot over the small redhead. Natalia took this brief moment before the fight began to observe him without reservation. He was tall, strong, a walking weapon, even without his metal arm. She couldn't spot any weak spots on him. Even his metal arm was so flawlessly fused with his skin that it didn't create a tender spot. He appeared to be about twenty-seven years old, but something about him seemed older. His eyes were empty and unlike Natalia's, that wasn't an act. He almost didn't seem human.

The fight began the second Headmistress took her seat.

Natalia moved like lightning, racing up the Soldier's body. He batted her away, but she landed lightly on her toes and continued her assault. She used her small stature to her advantage, slipping between his blows with all the grace of a ballerina. He barely moved from his spot, letting the girl come to him.

It was incredible to watch. They were a flash of red, the gleam of metal, soles shifting on a blood-stained floor. Dainty feet standing on point and a gloved fist cutting through the air. Someone let out an involuntary gasp as Natasha succeeded in wrapping her hands around his arm. She used the leverage to swing up and wrap her thighs around his neck. He grabbed at her lower legs, but he couldn't quite get a hold on her. Natalia was hanging tight on him, her face determined as she squeezed her thighs as tightly as she could.

Finally, the Winter Soldier tossed her off with a vicious maneuver that sent her flying into the brick wall. She slammed into it and slid to the floor, and despite the pain coursing through her body, she was back in a crouch in a second. The Soldier stared her down, and the fight would have resumed, if not for Headmistress standing up.

Her cold voice cut through the room. "Enough. That was an acceptable performance. We'll continue it tomorrow, Natalia."

The girl with the flame-colored hair straightened and dipped her head. Without waiting, Headmistress left the room, her girls following her out. Natalia followed after them, the intensity of the Winter Soldier's staring burning a hole in her back.

For some reason, his attention didn't make her feel like she was in danger. She didn't quite recognize the feeling, but it was almost pleasant, if such a nice thing could exist in such a cold place.

* * *

Natalia lasted a full week against the Winter Soldier. When she finally lost, no one even made a snide comment about it. Even Headmistress was impressed, although she never actually said so, but Natalia had learned how to read her teacher over the years.

"Natalia is the only one who has managed to meet my standards. Most of your targets will be men, sometimes many times the size of you and almost certainly much stronger than you," Headmistress chastised from her chair, sitting upon it like a Queen would her throne. Natalia was still laying on the floor with blood dripping into her eye from the gash on her forehead. The Soldier had just punched her and she hadn't been able to dodge it in time to avoid injury. She dragged herself upright as Headmistress continued, saying, "You must be better than your opponents. I hope you learned something from this experience. The Winter Soldier will be leaving us tomorrow."

That seemed to be an unspoken cue, because the Soldier and Headmistress left the room together.

Natalia, instead of following the other girls out, marched down to the supply room. Blood slowly dripped into her eye, clotting thickly on her lashes. It darkened the scarlet of her hair. She yanked open the supply cabinet, yanked out a thread, needle, and mirror, and sat down. She brushed her hair out of the way and prepared the needle.

"You need to clean the wound," a soft voice said from behind her.

She whirled around, her head throbbing at the sudden motion. She cursed herself mentally for not hearing the person coming, but froze upon seeing the man in the doorway. The Winter Soldier was watching her, but there was something... softer about his gaze right now. It was almost concerned. Things like care and concern for another person didn't often survive out here, in the Red Room, in the middle of a frozen wasteland where even the people seemed made of ice. And he was an assassin, who had caused the very injury that she was trying to treat. For a second she thought she must have lost more blood than she thought, because there was no way he had come to help her out of the kindness of his heart. He wasn't supposed to _have_ a heart.

"May I?" he asked, hands spread in a placating gesture, one calloused skin, the other smooth metal.

There was something distinctly disarming about his voice. It didn't match his intimidating appearance at all. It was gentle, low and smooth. She nodded her permission without even registering what he'd asked to do.

He walked over soundlessly and knelt next to her. She eyed him apprehensively, but he just gathered some swabs and dipped them in alcohol. He didn't bother warn her before touching the swab to her cut. She couldn't help but flinch. Horror flooded through her. She had just showed weakness before one of her trainers. Now he would punish her for it. She had always thought girls who flinched and cried were weak, and thought they deserved the punishment that would be delivered upon them, and now she was one of them. The weak. She steeled herself for the blow, but it never came.

He just kept cleaning her cut, even gently washing off the blood that had dried on her eyelid and lashes. The sting barely registered in her wonder. He really wasn't going to discipline her. His flesh hand was gentle, even, warm and experienced. He did the task efficiently and well, clearly from practice. He must have done this for himself countless times. Natalia didn't bother to pretend she wasn't staring at him. She couldn't comprehend why he was helping her. What could he possibly have to gain from it? Did he expect something from her in return?

The Soldier picked up the needle, cleansed it, and gently tilted her head with his ice cold metal hand. She let him, looking into his dark eyes. His gaze didn't so much as flickered away from his work. It was only when he set down the needle that he met her eyes. Young eyes met ancient ones. She was again struck by how much older his eyes seemed than his body appeared to be.

"You fight well," he said.

"You are better," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yes. But not for much longer, I suspect," he replied, and though neither of them smiled, they both understood what he was trying to saw. A compliment. What a rare thing to the ten year old assassin.

He stood and started to walk out of the room. She started cleaning up all the medical supplies he had brought out to patch her up. Headmistress would punish her if the room wasn't spotless when she left.

"It's a shame," he said abruptly, still in the doorway.

She frowned at him. "What is?"

"You would have been the most beautiful dancer."

For the first time, with his face soft and lit only by the dim glow of a single lamp, Natalia thought he might have been incredibly handsome, if they both weren't trained killers.

He suddenly had an odd expression on his face.

"What?" she demanded impetuously.

"You don't seem like a Natalia," he answered unexpectedly.

"What do I seem like?" she asked, before she could stop herself.

"A Natasha."


	2. Chapter 2

Five years later the Winter Soldier returned to the Red Room. It happened just like the first time. Headmistress entered and announced that they were hosting a guest. The girls stood at attention in their nightgowns, all young women now, and well known assassins. There were less girls in the Red Room than there had been five years ago. Some of them, the weak ones, had gone on missions and never come back. Natalia was still the strongest of them, enough so that some were murmuring that she might graduate soon.

"Training begins now," Headmistress declared, turning and striding out, the Winter Soldier her dark shadow. All the girls followed without hesitation, despite the fact that they were still in their nightgowns. Headmistress loved to warn them that they could have to fight at any time, wearing anything. No one mentioned that the Soldier was fully dressed in combat fatigues. Fairness was perhaps Headmistress's least favorite word.

The cycle began again. Each day, a girl or two were picked to fight the Soldier. Each day, a girl lost. If she did well enough, she would fight again the next day. The girls did much better this time, some even lasting as long as five days. Headmistress did add in a new element to the fights this time. For one, the girls were permitted to use weapons when they fought. Most girls picked guns, unsurprisingly, even though the Soldier would just deflect the bullets with his metal arm. For another change, no matter what, Natalia fought every day. Sometimes on the side of her sisters, sometimes with the Winter Soldier. It was up to Headmistress's whim which side she fought on. Even paired with Natalia, nobody beat the Winter Soldier. He was simply too good.

Something was different this time though. On the very first day, as Natalia was training by herself, he found her.

She knew he was there. She saw him enter the room through the mirror and the shadow he cast against the wall. She also knew that he had let her see him on purpose. Since she was unsure why he was here, she continued training. He would reveal the reason for his presence soon enough.

 _Wham!_ Her foot slammed into the punching bag hard enough to knock it to the ground. She reset her position as it bounced back upright. His eyes were on her, but she refused to be the one to acknowledge his presence first. He was the one who had sought her out. He could talk first.

"I remember you," he said softly, something akin to awe in his voice.

That was not what she had expected him to say. It was also a rather odd thing to say. Natalia turned to face him and tucked a strand of her blood colored hair behind her ear. He looked the same as he had five years ago. Exactly the same. It was as if he'd been frozen in time. He may not have changed, but she most certainly had. She was not a little girl any longer. She was beautiful, with the type of body men's eyes glazed over at. Not that it seemed to have any effect on this man. If that's what he was. No regular man has his stamina and strength.

"You're Natasha," he said.

"Natalia," she corrected. Headmistress had said her name just an hour ago, he should know that.

"You still look like a Natasha."

Her lips quirked upwards, the most amusement she would allow herself to show. She remembered his kindness, the last kindness anyone had shown her. Had he come to collect? She didn't think so. It was almost like he had found her to...chat with. Assassins didn't chat. What was happening?

"If you insist on renaming me, then I think I should know _your_ name," she said coolly. She couldn't let him have any advantage over her. No one could.

"James," he said, after a strange delay. She could tell it hadn't been hesitation that had caused the delay. It was like he had had to dredge up the name from the depths of his memory. Or he had made it up.

"What are you doing here, James?" she asked. There was something unfocused about him right now. The alertness, the presence he usually exuded, was missing. He seemed like a regular man, a different man from the Winter Soldier.

"I'm trying to understand why I remember you."

"You were here five years ago. You trained us," she reminded him. She'd never met a professional in her line of work with such a terrible memory. A bad memory was downright deadly when so many of their associates could hold grudges for decades.

"Never mind," he sighed. His gaze strayed to the punching bag she'd been in the midst of beating up. "Your form was slightly off. You leave yourself vulnerable when you kick."

She snorted. He was wrong. Headmistress frequently praised her form, at least as much as Headmistress praised anything. She settled back in her stance, but just as she launched into a kick something large rammed into her side and knocked her to the ground. She was in a low crouch in a second, a knife in hand. The Soldier...James was standing with his hands raised in surrender, a knowing look in his eyes.

She straightened and met his eyes. Her chin raised defiantly. "Fine. What else?"

Thus started their daily training. An hour after the morning fights they would meet up while most of the girls were eating lunch, and they would train. Sometimes they'd spar, sometimes he would help her with her form, and on some days they'd simply practice side by side, saying little. Natalia knew Headmistress was aware of these sessions, but nothing was done to stop or discourage them. The other girls remained ignorant, though they did remark on how well James and Natalia fought together when they were paired in the fights.

* * *

"What are you doing?" James asked, unfiltered shock in his voice.

She almost smiled. "Ballet."

He walked slowly into the room, as if not to destroy an illusion. Soft, classical music poured through the air and the two assassins were reflected in a million different angles in the mirrors she'd set against the walls. She continued her warm-ups, using a bar to keep her balance, although she hardly needed it. His reaction was amusing her. He was acting like he'd stumbled upon an alternate dimension.

"Didn't you say I'd make a beautiful dancer?" she asked him slyly.

"I did…?" he mumbled softly, then shook his head. "I did," he repeated with more conviction. "Did you learn ballet because I—"

"No," she said quickly, knowing what he was going to ask. "We all learned ballet for a mission. But I found I enjoyed it, and it is good exercise."

He didn't say anything. He simply moved to a position by the wall and watched her. Natalia finished her warm-ups and then moved to the center of the room. The song changed, and then she moved. She was dancing, the picture of grace and beauty, a small smile on her lips. She was pointed toes, rippling muscles, and a ribbon of red hair. Her spins were like kicks, her jumps vaults, and the waving of her arms were like strikes. The most beautiful, deadly dance.

When the song ended James' clapping filled the room. He looked relaxed and happy, and seeing him like that made her smile. She never danced like this, for someone who wasn't a target, rival, or instructor. To be honest, she wasn't quite sure what James was to her.

"That was beautiful, Natasha," he said sincerely.

She held out her hand. "Come. I'll show you."

He didn't move. "I don't know if I'm cut out for ballet."

She kept her hand outstretched. He swore in amusement and took it. Smiling, she led him to the center of the floor. The music came back, or maybe it had never stopped. She began to show him the steps.

He caught on pretty quickly, even if he didn't have her same grace. They were both smiling as they went through some basic steps. For a few minutes, it felt like they were the only two people in a perfect, simple world. They both knew they may never get to do this again, so they savored the moment.

They both didn't notice when Headmistress peeked through the open door and saw them dancing together. The music and their own feet drowned out the sound of her footsteps, and they had eyes only for each other.

* * *

"Natalia," Headmistress said as she stepped into the bedroom, not bothering with any preamble.

All the girls looked over at the teen in question. Natalia was in the midst of pulling her nightgown over her head. Headmistress simply turned and left without waiting, Natalia following after her. The girl followed a step behind her instructor as they walked down the halls, not encountering anyone. Natalia immediately picked up on the usual vibe coming from the older older. Her usual cold demeanor was tinged with...fury. Natalia hadn't thought Headmistress was capable of anything but impassiveness. Even when her pupils had failed to return she had hardly blinked at the news.

"In here," Headmistress commanded, letting Natalia enter the room first.

It turned out to be an empty room that's primary purpose seemed to be to the overlook the area below. There was no furniture. Headmistress walked towards the windows and gestured for Natalia to look down. She stepped forward cautiously and nearly forgot herself when she saw what was happening in the room below.

A cryostasis chamber, she believed it was called, stood upright in the center of the room below her. A few men, some in lab coats, and some holding assault rifles, were down in the room. The scientists seemed to be working on the controls for the cryo-cell, while the armed men were all standing directly below her, their guns aimed at James, who was sitting quietly in a chair with his arms pinned down.

Panic consumed Natalia, but she kept her face blank. Headmistress wanted her to see this for some reason. She couldn't let herself play into her instructor's plans, whatever they were. James looked amazingly calm. What were they going to do to him?

"You have heard of sleeper agents, of course," Headmistress said from beside her pupil, staring emotionlessly down at the scene below. "The Winter Soldier is a new breed of sleeper agent. HYDRA has spent unlimited amounts of money and used many resources so that they could make him the perfect soldier, capable of toppling governments on his own. They graciously donated him to me to help train my pupils, but it is dangerous to leave him out of cryo-freeze for so long."

Down below, the pod hissed as it came upon, frost swirling out. Natalia could make out more restraints within the pod itself through the miniature flurry. James didn't even turn around. He seemed unfocused, like he wasn't aware of his surroundings. He hadn't seen her yet, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from him, Headmistress be damned. And she finally knew who James's handler was. HYDRA. So they were much more active and well-funded than the world knew.

"I believed that he would be able to help with your training. There are very few who can present you with a challenge anymore, Natalia. But, to my disappointment, it appears you have a weakness in another area."

The restraints on James released. He simply stood up. A man whose gun was pointed at James' chest walked forward and said something to him that she couldn't hear. James turned around and walked slowly, step by step, towards the cryostasis pod. Every muscle in Natalia's body was tense, but she didn't move. She couldn't move, she couldn't do anything. Fury rose up in her. She was supposed to be the powerful, but it was all an illusion. They were made to be powerful, but not compared to Headmistress. Headmistress was the true predator. She was the queen bee, and her girls were no more than her workers, blindly loyal.

"I thought that I had trained this weakness out of you years ago. You were always such a fast learner. But maybe I didn't drill it into your head enough. You allowed yourself to be seduced, to be distracted by him. So I'm doing you a favor. I'm removing this distraction from your life."

James stepped into the pod. The scientists quickly strapped him in. He hardly seemed to notice. The man with the gun backed away, apparently satisfied that there was no more danger. One scientist began punching the pod's buttons. Another hiss slithered through the room. The door began to shut and James finally saw her. He smiled as their eyes met and then he was sealed in, frost covering the pod and obscuring him from view.

"Natalia, look at me," Headmistress said, cold fury lacing her tone.

Natalia turned her head. She saw the absolute rage in Headmistress's eyes right before the hand struck her cheek, whipping her head to the side. Hot blood welled up on her cheek in bloody grooves. Headmistress's long nails dripped red, red blood. She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped off the blood slowly. Her nail polish hadn't even chipped.

"I expected better. Perhaps we need to move the graduation ceremony up."

She dropped the bloody square and left the room.

Natalia raised her head and looked one last time at the cryostasis chamber. Her face hardened. She had no more time for weakness, for distraction. She left the room and didn't look back. She would not be weak. She would train, and train, until she was a queen like Headmistress. Until others cowered when they heard her name. Black Widow. That was the name she would be gifted with when she graduated. She would make others learn that name.

No one said anything when Natalia returned to the bedroom covered in splotches of her own blood.


	3. Chapter 3

Four years later, Black Widow was undercover as a ballerina in the Bolshoi ballet. She'd been part of the ballet for three months now. She loved it. It was, by far, the best cover story she'd had yet. She only needed to be the Widow when the assignments came to her doorstep. Otherwise, she could enjoy being a normal citizen in Moscow, one of the most beautiful places in the world. At least in her opinion.

It was a show night. She went onto the stage with the other ballerinas. Ready position. The curtains rose. Lights hit her face. A sea of faces swam before her. The orchestra struck up the first song, the thrum of violins filling the air. She flew across the stage, the incarnation of grace. Her form was perfect, she made people cry with the power of her performance.

The music faded. She melted into her final pose. As the curtain fell and the applause roared, she looked out at the audience. Her eyes snagged on a man in the front row. He was looking right at her, clapping slowly. He wore one black glove.

To hide a metal arm. James.

The curtain fell. The ballerinas were hurrying offstage. New dancers were coming out. She stood frozen for a moment, caught in the center of the organized chaos. Then she bolted into the wings, running past the other dancers. She shouted at her understudy to take her spot. In her dressing room people banged on her door, asking what was happening, but she just slipped out of her costume. She was back into her evening gown in record time.

She shoved past the dancers and into the area where the audience would gather during intermission, which was next. One of two things would happen during intermission: the Winter Soldier would complete whatever mission he had come here on, or her James would find her. Delicate, rare hope blossomed in her. She seated herself at an out of the way table, sure James would be able to find her, if that was why he was really here.

The doors opened. The audience came streaming out, raving about the ballet. She scanned the crowd, nearly convinced that she had imagined seeing James in the crowd. After all, he couldn't know where she was, and there was no way he was on an assignment at her ballet by chance. But then she sensed a familiar presence behind her, and a soft voice whispered in her ear.

"You're a beautiful dancer."

"James," she breathed out without turning.

He walked around her and took the seat across from her. He wore a nice suit, his metal hand hidden with an elegant glove. His long brown hair was combed back neatly into a bun. His dark eyes took her in, as if he had never seen her. She was no better, raking her eyes over him. He still hadn't aged. He looked just as handsome and young as he had when he had first come to the Red Room nine years ago.

"What should I call you?" he asked. She understood. He didn't know what alias she was under here.

"Natasha Romanova," she told him and he almost smiled. She wouldn't deny that she had picked the pseudonym because of him.

"Do I dare ask why you're here?" she asked, not sure if she would get the answer.

"If you mean in Moscow, then I can't tell you." He smiled at her knowingly. "But if you mean in the Bolshoi, it's because I heard of the most beautiful ballerina and I knew it could only be one person."

She leaned across the table and gave him a seductive smile. "Why don't we head back to my place?"

People looked away, thinking she was propositioning him. James played along. He leaned towards her and his breath ruffled her red hair.

"You're right. Let's take this somewhere more private," he whispered. With equally sappy grins, they stood and linked arms. Together, they strolled out of the Bolshoi, looking like a beautiful young couple about to enjoy the big city at night.

"This way," Natalia said, guiding him down the dark streets. It was a nice looking neighborhood, with neatly trimmed bushes and evenly paved streets. A few streetlights were placed along the sidewalk. She led him to a small, quaint house tucked between two larger ones. She pulled a key out of her purse and unlocked the door, letting them into the entry hall. She didn't bother with the lights.

He stepped inside and looked around. The whole place was stereotypical of a middle class family. Neat, cozy, and simple. Coats hung from hooks, stairs led up to the bedrooms, the wood floors were clean, and the dark rooms on either side had couches, bookshelves, and a fireplace that looked unused. There were no pictures of people. Only generic shots of forests and oceans. There was something distinctly impersonal about the house. Like the owners hadn't moved in yet.

Natalia walked right down the hall to what appeared to be the kitchen. He followed behind her. Moonlight lit up the kitchen, reflecting on the marble counter-tops and the pots hanging above the stove. She filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove. Then she leaned against the counter and stared at James, who was wandering around the room, picking up random objects and setting them back down.

"What's going on, James? How are you here?" she asked, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that had come over her as they walked here. It was like a ghost from her past was standing in her kitchen. She was uneasy. She had paid the price the last time she'd allowed herself to get too close to James. Now she had a title to uphold. She would not be the one to tarnish the Black Widow's name.

"I have a mission in the city. It might take awhile," he said simply. "What are you doing here? I can't imagine you went through all that just to become a ballerina, however much I wish you had."

"This is just my cover. I graduated. I am the Black Widow," she told him bluntly.

He didn't congratulate her. She was glad. Her victory had been expected for years. It would have been insulting for him to congratulate her on what was hardly a fair fight. And she had told him of what the graduation ceremony entailed, and how much she had dreaded it. He knew it wasn't exactly something to celebrate. More something that had come to pass.

"Does your handler know you're here?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"No. And I have no intention of giving you away."

"Do you have a choice?"

He grimaced. "No. But they would have to ask the right questions." He observed her silently for a moment. "You're mad at me."

"I am," she conceded, a cold note creeping into her tone. "You kept a lot of things from me, James."

"You never asked," he countered.

"I'm not in the mood for games!" she snapped.

He settled against the wall. "What do you want to know?"

"Who are you?"

"The Winter Soldier."

"No, who are you really?" she asked. That question had been burning inside her for years. Ever since a notorious assassin had helped stitch up the wounds on a young spy. A killer who was supposed to be heartless who had turned out to be nicer than all of Natalia's so-called sisters.

He blinked, looking pained. "I don't know." That same look was in his eyes as when she had first asked him her name. "I don't remember anything. Except you. They let me keep you."

Then it clicked in her head, like the last piece in a jigsaw. "They wipe your memory every time they put you in the cryostasis chamber. But we didn't have that technology at the Red Room, so you never forgot me."

It was a growing practice in the underworld and in the black markets. Memory wiping, to protect the secrets that mustn't get out. She had never heard of it being used to weaponize someone, or routine wiping, but it didn't surprise her that HYDRA had accomplished it. They were well funded and ruthless in their pursuit of world domination, though since she hadn't heard much of them in recent years she believed they must be a fairly small group. And a soldier with no personal attachments who could topple governments single-handedly was money well spent for that organization.

"Even those memories get affected. But I remember you so clearly. My Natasha, the dancer," he said fondly, then looked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry that we parted the way that we did last time."

"It doesn't matter," she said decisively crossing the kitchen and stopping in front of him. His hands moved to hover over her hips, but he didn't touch her. "You're here. And we have a lot of lost time to make up for."

Her bright eyes burned with intensity as she gazed into his handsome face, and she felt desire sweep through her. True desire, for the man she had pinned against a wall. They leaned in at the same time and their lips met in a glorious crash. The kiss was hungry, passionate, possessive. It was everything they had never been allowed to feel.

It wasn't long before they made their way to an upstairs bedroom.

* * *

Natalia slipped through the window and walked soundlessly down the hall. The house was quiet and the only light was a lamp in the living room. It reflected on the shiny wooden floor of the hallway. She snuck towards the light and the person sitting in the chair underneath the lamp. She couldn't actually see the person, since the chair was facing away from her, but she knew he would be there. She crept closer and wrapped her hands around the chair. A hand grabbed her arm.

"You said you would be back later," James said.

She walked around the chair and took a seat across from him. He looked almost angry. It was clear he had been waiting for her for awhile. She wore only a short black dress that now had rather suspicious dark stains and tears. He didn't even look her over.

"It is later," she argued.

"Technically, it's tomorrow. Where were you?"

"Where my mission was. It was a success, in case you were curious."

"Of course it was," he said without blinking. His faith in her was nice, but neither of them expected any less than the best results from each other. They were the best there was, and they lived up to their names. The Winter Soldier and the Black Widow. In the right circles, those simple names struck terror in the hearts of men and women.

"Are you upset?" she asked, deciding to be direct. She enjoyed playing coy sometimes, but right now she just wanted to have James forgive her, bang her, and then shower. Maybe not in that order. The feeling of dried blood flaking off was very uncomfortable and not very sexy.

"Yes. No. Not at you. I worry when I don't know if you're okay."

She got up and sat on his lap. His hands, one warm flesh and the other cold metal, slid under her dress and settled on her hips. She slid her fingers into his silky hair and leaned in to brush a kiss to his lips. Then she rested her forehead against his.

"You shouldn't worry," she breathed out.

"I know. But I do. You're all I have, Natasha."

"You're all I have, too."

They made love to each other in the living room, staving off the rest of the world for just a little longer.

They both knew that the life that they had created together was temporary. It was an illusion, a mirage. Neither of them believed it would last. At the end of the day, they had loyalties, commitments bigger than those to each other. To HYDRA, to the Red Room, to the government. They knew that any day one of them could wake up alone in bed with the other thousands of miles away.

* * *

"I'm meeting with my employer today," James told her as they sipped coffee in the kitchen the next morning. She wore only one of his shirts, leaving her long legs exposed in the early morning light. He kept finding his attention drifting to her beautiful, strong legs. No doubt she had done that on purpose, but he had to talk to her about this.

"For an assignment, or for something else?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"For information. I've been hearing strange rumors, Natasha. Ones that could mean you're in danger. I need to do some more digging."

She laughed. "James, are you talking about those gangsters who swore vengeance on the Black Widow? Because I can handle them. Easily."

"No. This could be something else, something much more dangerous," he said, but he didn't offer any more information yet.

"I'll be careful," she promised him. Natalia thought he was just being paranoid. Paranoia could be both good and bad in their profession. It could keep you alive and kill you at the same time. But if he felt the need to check this out himself, she wouldn't stop him.

"Okay. I should be back in time for your performance," he said, washing out his mug.

"You don't have to come to every show, James," she reminded him, even though she loved when he came to see her dance.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind and whispered in her ear, "And miss a chance to see my favorite ballerina dance? Never."

"Get going, you suck up," she told him, kissing his cheek and slipping out of his arms. "I have a rehearsal to get to."

He planted a kiss on her lips and left. She stood alone in the kitchen for a few minutes before heading upstairs to change. The bedroom actually looked like people, real people, with real lives lived there. There were clothes scattered around the room and personal belongings on the counters. Nothing that could be traced back to them, but enough that the house that was supposed to be her cover story had become her home.

"What have you done to me, James?" she sighed aloud to the empty room.


	4. Chapter 4

James now had his own box at the Bolshoi that Natalia had procured for him. So he could come in and out of the ballet without disturbing the audience. Whenever Natasha performed her eyes would wander over to that box to see the happy look on James' face that was so rare. He never missed one of her performances, even when he was in the middle of a mission.

Something was wrong tonight though. James seemed restless, shifting in his seat and scanning the theater sporadically. Natalia found herself mimicking him, but she didn't see any threats. It looked like the regular audience, but she trusted James' instincts. She had her understudy go in for her at intermission and then went outside. James was already leaning against the side of the building, waiting for her. They fell into step and didn't talk til the Bolshoi was out of sight.

"What is it?" she asked him, slipping her arm through his.

His eyes checked every alley they passed. His behavior was grating at her nerves. "There's chatter going around. A S.H.I.E.L.D. team is in town, led by one of their top agents."

She didn't understand why he was so worried about that. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't know of HYDRA's continued existence, nor of his. And teams came by from time to time, did their job, and left. It wasn't a big deal. Something loosened in her chest.

"Okay. So we'll be careful until they leave," she suggested, mostly to placate him.

He shook his head. "They won't leave until they complete their mission."

"Which is…?"

"To kill the Black Widow."

His words settled like stones in her stomach. Yes, she had made a name for herself, but she had never even imagined S.H.I.E.L.D. would come after her. It took quite a bit to warrant their attention. She'd been sure never to target any of their agents either. For once, she might honestly be in danger. But she was also confident in her abilities. She was a deadly assassin and spy. She was the best of the best that had ever emerged from the Red Room. It would take more than a S.H.I.E.L.D. team to bring her down. She would just exercise a little more caution in the meantime.

He suddenly stopped walking and turned her roughly to face him. "Natasha, you should leave the city. Get out of here before S.H.I.E.L.D. finds you. Start over somewhere else."

She shook her head. "No. Not a chance. Not unless you come with me."

He looked pained. "I can't," he whispered brokenly. She nodded, because she knew that at the end of the day, James was not his own person. She had to ask, but she had known the answer. He couldn't do what he wanted, not with HYDRA's hold on his mind. It was a miracle he hadn't been put back in cryofreeze yet. "I want to, but I can't."

"I know," she told him. "I'm staying with you."

"No. You need to go," he tried to convince her. "Any day now they'll put me back in the ice. Maybe for years this time, maybe even longer. You need to live your life, Natasha. There is no future with me."

"I don't care. I'm staying here. With you," she added, kissing him gently. "Right where I'm supposed to be."

"Natasha," he groaned.

"You're stuck with me, James. You might as well accept it."

"Fine. Let's go get a hotel room. Our house isn't safe anymore." She smiled and allowed him to lead her away.

* * *

One week later, S.H.I.E.L.D. caught up to her.

She and James were walking back to their hotel room from the Bolshoi when they struck. A red dot appeared on James' chest. A gun sight. He moved fast enough so that the bullet glanced off his metal arm instead of striking flesh. She had a gun in her hand instantly and shot at the area the bullet had come from. She turned and saw four men in S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms coming at her. She started shooting, but only brought one down before ducking behind a car for cover. She didn't have her usual arsenal on her because she had just returned from the Bolshoi.

"Get down!" James yelled at her, shoving her into an alleyway. Bullets peppered the spot they had just been standing in.

"We can't stay here!" she yelled over the gunfire.

"Well, we can't move, they'll tear us to bits! Do you have any of your toys on you?" he asked.

"Not today! All I have is this pistol and my Widow Stings," she said, raising her wrist to show him her preferred weapons.

"I'll get you an opening," James told her, pulling out a gun from the waistband of his pants. In sync, James stepped out and provided cover fire while she made a mad dash towards the agents hiding out behind some cars.

She had one down with her Stings in seconds. His partner turned to fire at her, but she used the limp body as a shield. Then she jumped and caught the agent in the chest with her heeled shoe. The agent was knocked out from the cover of the car and James' bullets tore through him. Two down, two more to go.

"Duck!" James yelled. She flung herself behind a car just in time to avoid the third agent putting bullets in her. James shot back at him, and she used the opening to bolt over to the third man.

She hooked her legs around the the agent's head and used her momentum to slam him into the ground. She spared one bullet to shot him through the head before running towards the last agent, who was trading gunfire with James. Natalia tackled him from the side and they went sprawling on the pavement. She was back on her feet in seconds, years of training keeping her from losing her balance, even with one of the heels snapped off her stilettos. She knew she shouldn't have worn those today. James had even lifted a skeptical eyebrow at her choice in footwear, but it was too late now. Her brief distraction allowed the man to get back on his feet.

The agent got up just in time to dodge her first kick, but she was quite simply better. She used his size against him to send him slamming back into the street with a well placed punch. She straddled him and despite his struggling, her Stings killed him quickly. Breathing heavily, she rolled off of him and turned back to look at James.

He was smiling at her, an awed look on his face. He always told her she was beautiful when she fought. But suddenly his smile turned into a grimace. He fell over silently, an arrow protruding out of his back. She screamed his name in pure terror and ran to his body.

Her panic receded slightly as she realized the wound was non-fatal and that it was only a sedative on the tip that had caused him to pass out. In her preoccupation, she didn't think to look for the man who had shot the arrow. That was why she missed it when a man with a quiver on his back slipped away into the busy city of Moscow.

* * *

"You're telling me that not only did you not complete your mission, but five of my top agents are also dead?" Nick Fury asked, staring at the man before him with his one remaining eye.

"Yes, sir," Clint Barton said with no hesitation.

"You told me you could do this." There was an unpleasant undertone to the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s voice.

"And you told me that the Black Widow was too dangerous to leave alive."

Fury leaned back and surveyed his agent over his steepled fingers. Barton was a newer agent, with only a few years of service under his belt, but no one could compare to his skill with projectiles. Guns, bows, darts, it didn't seem to matter to the agent. He couldn't miss. However, Fury was starting to think that all the skill wasn't enough to make up for Barton's insolence.

"You saw her extensive record," Fury said. "You've seen her in action. Five agents dead in a matter of minutes. And you believe that we can just let her go? Let her keep killing in the name of Mother Russia?"

Barton fell silent.

"I asked you a question, Agent."

"She's a kid," he whispered.

"Excuse me?" Fury asked, raising his eyebrow.

"She can't be more than twenty."

Everyone knew of the Black Widow, but no one could tell you what she looked like. She was a master of disguise, and rarely did anyone survive an encounter with her. It made reliable information about her hard to come by. But Barton had survived, and seen her true face, not a disguise or a mask.

"Your point?" Fury said coldly, in a tone that brokered no negotiations.

"What if we take her into custody instead? She's so young, she should be able to have a chance to redeem herself—" Clint argued.

"Redeem herself?" the Director repeated in disbelief. "Barton, she was raised to be a weapon, she kills without discrimination between good and bad as long as the cash is plentiful. She has lost the opportunity for redemption. Unless there's something you left out of your report?"

Silence stretched out between the two men. Fury waited patiently. Clint looked like he was struggling to come up with the right words. Clint knew that even if he told Fury what he had seen, the Director wouldn't change his mind. He decided it was better to keep that information to himself for now.

"No, sir," Clint said finally.

"Good. Then I want her dead by the end of the week," Fury said with a note of finality. "Or else I'm pulling you from this assignment and putting someone who can produce results on it. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir. I'll find her."

The video line went dead. Clint fell backwards onto his bed and stayed there, rubbing his face in exhaustion. The young Widow's scream echoed in his ears. There had been too much heartbreak in that sound for it to have been faked. He'd been told she was a mindless killer who only obeyed the hand that raised her, but she had cared for that man with her. She'd screamed his name in pain. James. She wasn't invulnerable. And she was so young. There had to be a way to spare her without more people dying.

James, if that was really his name, wasn't supposed to be there. S.H.I.E.L.D. had no files on him. There was nothing in the Black Widow's admittedly thin file about having a partner or any associates. That's why Clint had chosen to sedate him. The man had been too dangerous to leave in the fight, but the girl's reaction had complicated things for Clint. He couldn't kill her while she was crying over that man's body. It wasn't right. It also proved she wasn't heartless, which complicated things for Clint. He believed in second chances, and that this girl, who had been brainwashed her entire life, definitely deserved one.

"What are we going to do, Lucky?" Clint asked, reaching down to scratch his dog's head. Lucky, of course, didn't respond, but he did start licking Clint's face quite a bit. Clint smiled. "Thanks, boy. We have a lot of work to do."

* * *

"Natasha," James moaned.

"Shh," she reprimanded, laying him on his stomach on the couch. The room was dark, as she hadn't bothered with the lights and the sun had long since set. "I need to pull this arrow out. Stay still."

"Natasha," he said again, a little more clearly. "We can't stay here. They'll find you."

She faltered for a second. Even with an arrow protruding from his back, he was more concerned about her safety than his own. But she wasn't just going to leave him like this, especially after dragging him all the way here. He'd lost a lot of blood, but they couldn't go to the hospital. Not with his metal arm that would be hard to explain, and his altered physiology. Their house was the only place they could access the medical equipment that they needed to treat his wound.

"We don't have much choice right now," she reminded him sternly.

"You need to go," he argued, cutting off with a hiss when she touched the arrow.

"Be quiet," she snapped. She needed to concentrate to make this as fast and painless as she could. She tore a strip of fabric off the bottom of her dress, already ruined from the fight, then held it out for him to bit on. He did, though he did roll his eyes. She didn't care, because she did not want to have the neighbors coming over to check on why they heard screaming. That would attract attention, and they needed to keep their heads down while S.H.I.E.L.D. was still hunting her.

Natalia didn't warn him before she yanked the arrow out and quickly pressed a bandages down to stem the blood flow. His scream of pain was muffled by the makeshift gag, but it still tore at her heart. To think that they'd been at the ballet only a hour ago. Since S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed to know she worked at the Bolshoi, her cover was blown. She couldn't go back there now. Those agents would be waiting, so she would need to get somewhere else. But she didn't have any contacts in the city that she felt were trustworthy enough to bring James with her and risk associating them with each other. They'd have to do everything themselves to stay out of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s eyes.

She pulled the gag out of his mouth. His breathing was ragged, but she was just glad that he was breathing at all. That agent could have killed him. He'd had a clean shot, and James had been distracted by her. So why hadn't he gone for a killing shot? Why had he only used a sedative? And why had he left without even attempting to take her down? S.H.I.E.L.D. was a lot of things, but sloppy wasn't one of them. Which made that agent's actions even stranger.

"Natasha, they probably tracked us back here," James groaned, trying to tilt his head to look back at her.

She placed a hand on his back and kept him down. "Stop. I still need to stitch you back up." She got up to go get the supplies.

"Nat!" he said louder and she froze in the doorway. "You don't have time for this, you need to go. Even if S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't track us back, my handler is expecting me back tonight. I finished my mission, I didn't want to tell you. I have orders to return."

Suddenly, it all made sense to her. Why James had told her he couldn't stay with her, why he'd insisted on a leisurely walk back from the Bolshoi, why he'd had only one gun on him tonight. He knew he had to leave, he'd been trying to arrange for her to move somewhere else, so she would be safe when he couldn't protect her anymore. He'd wanted the walk to enjoy his last few hours with her. He'd been carrying one gun because that was all he could bring with him to meet his handler. He'd been planning on leaving tonight, probably as soon as she fell asleep.

"I'm stitching you back up," she repeated. He watched her leave the room with an agonized expression. She returned with the first aid kit they kept in the kitchen. She sat next to him and began working, her stitches precise.

"You did this for me the first time we met," she told him as she sewed his wound shut. "It was one of the very few nice things anyone had ever done for me. I always remembered you, even when we didn't see each other for years." He was quiet as he listened to her talk. "So, I'll go. I'll go somewhere far away, where S.H.I.E.L.D. won't be able to find me. But I'm going to ask again. Come with me, please."

She finished his stitches and set the tools down. He sat up slowly and took her bloodstained hands in his. She stared at him steadily, but he had trouble meeting her eyes. She could tell he was conflicted, but she knew it wouldn't matter.

"I can't," he whispered.

Of course not. James was not like her in one very significant way. James was not in control of himself. HYDRA owned him, he was their slave. However much he might honestly want to be with her, in the end, his programming and brainwashing would win out. He would always pick HYDRA over her. And she would pick herself. She was a survivor. People were temporary, they came and went, but she would always have herself. This honeymoon had come to an end.

She kissed his cheek. "I know."


	5. Chapter 5

Natalia walked down the street alone. She wore her Widow suit under a long trench coat, and she carried nothing with her. All her possessions, all evidence that she had been a ballerina at the Bolshoi was left behind in that house. As was any evidence that she had had a young lover named James. All gone in a matter of minutes, months of her life wiped clean. Natasha Romanova no longer existed. There was nothing left to connect her to that life and to James. It was time to move on, start over.

She had a contact waiting to help get her out of the city, and then another contact lined up to get her a new identity and home somewhere else. She would set herself up in a new city, as a new person. Maybe reach back to the Red Room and get connected to some high paying jobs. She just needed to get to her contact. And get over the ache that was building in her chest. Sentiment was for the weak. She was the Black Widow, and she would not be weak. She couldn't afford to be, not with S.H.I.E.L.D. still after her.

Her phone rang suddenly. She pulled it out and frowned. No caller ID. She answered and waited for the other person to speak first.

"Black Widow?" an unfamiliar voice said.

"Who is this?" she demanded, walking faster down the deserted street and looking over her shoulder for a tail. There was no one, though. Not even a late night drunk ambling about. The city was eerily quiet, only distant streetlights reflecting on dirty puddles.

"My name is Clint Barton, and I'm an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D.," he said. Natalia recognized the name from the intelligence community. Clint Barton, better known as Hawkeye. His signature weapon was the bow and arrow. A notorious sniper and assassin, but with the authority of the World Security Council behind him. He'd been the one who shot James. Of course he had. She'd been too panicked to think about it earlier, but now it was clear. And he was calling her. "We crossed paths earlier today."

"I know. What do you want?" she asked. There was no one in sight, but that didn't mean he couldn't see her. Tall buildings surrounded her, and he could be in any of them, his sight locked on her. He was famous for his eyesight and his aim. He didn't miss his targets. And know she was one.

"To meet with you, face-to-face. You've been causing problems for S.H.I.E.L.D., Miss. I was hoping you would come quietly."

She snorted. "Why would I agree to that?"

"Because I have some leverage that you don't."

Her phone buzzed. She pulled it away from her ear to see a video playing on the screen. It was taken from a camera mounted on a gun, the cross hairs aimed at a man walking through a crowd, his head down. A tall man with long brown hair. James. They had their guns trained on him, and Hawkeye knew he was her weak spot, knew because she'd been vulnerable and she'd shouted his name. She would have sworn if Barton hadn't still been listening in. She didn't need to give the agent any more satisfaction.

"That footage is live, as I'm sure you can tell. I never miss, which you might know," he said. Hate burned through her, hate for this man, for herself, for her life. "So I suggest we meet up in five minutes, otherwise your friend will pay for associating with a criminal like you, Miss."

"You wouldn't kill him. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't kill innocents," she claimed confidently.

"Your friend isn't an innocent. He's responsible for the deaths of multiple S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. I already have the clearance to take him out. But I'd rather leave him out of this. Keep it between you and me."

She gritted her teeth, but she couldn't see a way out of this where both she and James walked free. And it was her own stupid feelings that had landed her in this mess. She couldn't allow James to pay the price. "Fine. I'll meet with you."

"Just so you know, my agents have orders to kill him if you attempt to contact him or tip him off," Agent Barton informed her cheerfully. "Goodbye, Miss. See you soon."

The call ended. As she stared at her screen, she received a message. An address. Where she was to meet with this Agent Barton, Hawkeye, whatever he called himself, if James was to live.

So she started walking.

* * *

"Hello," the man said cheerfully. He was younger than Natalia had expected for someone with his reputation, but then again, she supposed the same could be said of her. She didn't usually think of herself that way. She'd seen and done too much to consider herself young. "It's nice to meet you, Miss…?"

She didn't say anything. She just strode forward. The address had turned out to be an abandoned warehouse. Strangely enough, she hadn't spotted any other agents in or around the premises, except for Barton. Either S.H.I.E.L.D. was better trained than she had known or Barton really was alone. Was he that confident in his own abilities, or did he underestimate her? He seemed smarter than most men, but he was still a man. And she had been specifically trained to undermine men.

"Would you like to talk, Miss? Or would you like to skip straight to the part where we fight, I win, and people who are much less friendly than me will force you to talk? The choice is yours."

"You sound really confident," she sang, drawing nearer. The warehouse was empty, covered in a thick layer of dust. The assassin and the agent were the only things that had been in there for a long, long time from what she could tell.

He shrugged. "I suppose."

He was of average height, with a head of cropped blonde hair and blue eyes that looked like they were used to smiling. He wore simple black clothes with an arm guard and a finger glove on his hand. Archery gear. She could see his bow and quiver, both hanging on his back. If they hadn't been standing in an empty warehouse in the middle of the night, both armed, she might have mistaken him for a regular man, probably an American tourist. Nothing about him screamed danger at her, despite the fact that he was obviously armed, very unlike most of them men she had encountered in her life.

"Why are you so confident, I wonder?" Natalia mused to herself, the distance between them rapidly shrinking. "You saw me take out all of your agents earlier. And why are we in a former storehouse for furniture instead of a secure, S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, of which there are multiple in this city?"

He looked impressed. "You're as good as they say. Do you want to hear a secret?" He met her eyes. "I was sent here to kill the Black Widow."

That was all she needed to hear. She shed her long coat and charged at him, powering up her Widow Stings. He pulled his bow off his back and with a sharp snap it turned into a staff. He blocked her first punch with the metal rod, and their deadly dance began.

Dust motes swirled through the air, upset for the first time in years. The only light came from the flickering bulbs far overhead and the glow of her Stings, burning electric blue. Natalia was immediately surprised by how well he fought. She certainly landed hits on him, but he managed to prevent her from causing any actual injury. He was strong, too. Whenever he managed to knock her with his staff, she was sent stumbling back in pain.

"Can we talk? I feel like we're having a misunderstanding!" Barton yelped as they fought, his breathing heavy. She ignored him. He would do and say anything to beat her. That could not be allowed, for James's safety. This man was the only one who knew about her and James. That knowledge could not be allowed to leave this warehouse.

"Please, stop fighting!" the agent begged again, even as he knocked her back. "I'm trying to help you!"

Yeah, right. Did he really expect her to fall for his obvious trick? Nobody helped her. That wasn't how the world worked. Everyone was always out for themselves, just like this man was out to kill her so he could pick up a nice bonus from S.H.I.E.l.D. And when someone developed a weakness, it was exploited. She had allowed James to become her weakness. Now it was being exploited. She would tip back the scales by taking Agent Barton out of the equation. Then she could go back to taking care of herself.

But Natalia was slowly starting to realize that Barton was slightly better than her. She had no advantage here. They were fighting in a wide open space with nothing for her to vault off or take cover behind, and his blows were more powerful than hers, since she couldn't quite use her Stings on him. If she moved too far away he would turn his staff back into a bow and shoot at her, like he'd shot at James. Except this time he'd be aiming to kill, and he didn't miss, and even she wasn't fast enough to dodge an arrow. He needed to complete his mission, and as she took hit after hit, she realized that she needed to live.

What a strange realization. She didn't want to die.

"Look, I've seen your ledger!" Clint said to her as she fought tooth and nail with a new desperation. "You were taken from your family! You were raised in the Red Room!"

She let loose a battle-cry, which startled him, and then renewed her assault. Her Widow Stings crackled with electricity and fizzled at they collided with his staff. He swore as the Stings came dangerously close to his face. She was enraged now. He'd already used James against her, and now he was trying to use her past against her! That was low.

"They made you into this! They made you a killer! They tried to turn you into their perfect little assassin, but it didn't work, did it? You broke with them and the KGB and you've been working for the highest bidder instead! S.H.I.E.L.D. sent me here to kill you!" He saw an opening and rammed her hard in the ribs with his staff. She fell to the ground as the blow knocked the wind from her lungs. She scrambled away from him, but her back hit the wall and she gasped. She hadn't noticed how far they had traveled during their fight. He stood over her, staff raised, and she shrunk back, for once knowing how to get out of this. " _Please._ I don't want to hurt you."

They were both breathing heavily, the only noise in the silent warehouse. She looked up at him, her ribs burning, and met his eyes. She was determined that if this was it, this was when she died, that this moment should haunt Barton for the rest of his life. But she was surprised to see that he was hesitating, a conflicted look in his eyes. Doubt crept its way into her head. Had he been telling the truth? Did he really not want to fight her, despite his orders?

"Why would you spare me when you have orders to kill me?" Natalia asked despite herself. She needed to understand why he would risk his mission to spare her. She would have easily killed him if they were in each other's places. What he was doing went against everything she had ever known.

"Because I think the world screwed you over. I think the world screwed me over too. I want to help you, like S.H.I.E.L.D. helped me. So, please." His blue eyes looked tortured. "Just promise not to run and we can talk."

He really did mean it, she could tell. She'd been trained to hear lies, and Barton wasn't telling her any. And that new desire, the desire to _not die_ rose back up and caused her to say breathlessly, "I give."

He clearly hadn't been expecting her to actually agree, but he didn't let his guard down. He reached back cautiously and pulled out handcuffs. She held out her wrists, confident she could get out of them if she needed to. Not near Barton though. She didn't need a rematch of that fight. She was a little stunned that he'd managed to beat her. He snapped them on, and the metal dug into her wrists.

"I'll come with you, I'll be good, on one condition," she told him.

He raised an eyebrow. A thin scratch ran through the brow from her nails. "What would that be?"

"My friend goes free," she demanded. "Your agents leave, don't track him, and you leave him off my record. I won't have any more contact with him anyways."

"That's a steep demand for someone in cuffs," he remarked, snapping his staff back into a bow.

"He has nothing to do with me anymore. Leave him out of this mess."

Barton shrugged. "Fine." He tapped the small comm in his ear. "There. The agents are leaving their positions. Are you satisfied, Miss…?"

"Romanoff. Natasha Romanoff."

"Your file has your names as Natalia Romanova," he said without judgement. He probably had been expecting her to give a fake name.

"Yeah, well, it's time to remake myself."


	6. Chapter 6

"What the hell is this?!" Fury yelled at Barton and the restrained redheaded girl next to him. "I sent you to kill the Black Widow, Agent! Not bring her to my office!"

"I said I'd help you find her," Barton said, unfazed. "Not kill her."

"I'm getting real tired of your attitude, Barton." The Director's voice was cold. "Now tell me why the hell she's here."

To be honest, Natasha herself wasn't quite sure of that. When she'd allowed Barton to shackle her she'd thought he'd bring her to a cell. She hadn't been expecting to be brought straight to the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., the man who had ordered the hit on her. On top of that, Fury was well known among the underground community for being a harsh man, almost a ghost story. But Barton didn't seem worried, and for some reason she could not explain, she trusted the agent. That might be naive of her, but she could tell Barton would defend her. There was no other reason he'd be so relentless in sparing her.

"She surrendered. I couldn't shoot her after she surrendered," Barton explained.

"That was the point of the mission! To shoot her!" Natasha grew mildly concerned. A vein in the Director's forehead looked like it was about to burst.

"She's from the Red Room."

Fury leaned back, looking suddenly vindicated. "That's what this is about. Did she tell you her tragic backstory? Pout and give you puppy eyes? Did you fall for her charms, Agent? Did she strike a nerve in you? Play you, like she plays all men?"

"Of course not."

"Then why is there an assassin in my office?!" Fury demanded, losing his patience.

"I brought her here because I understand having a sucky childhood. I know what it's like to have someone else controlling your actions. She wasn't taught what was right and wrong. She's young, skilled, and willing to change. I think she'd be an asset to S.H.I.E.L.D., sir."

Natasha didn't bother to hide her surprise. Barton wasn't standing up for her, he was recommending her for a job at S.H.I.E.L.D.

He thought Fury would let her work for an American organization even though she was a known Russian terrorist. Barton had to be delusional. She'd agreed to come with him to save her own skin, because she was selfish and didn't want to die. Not because she'd been looking for a new employer.

Fury, who she expected to shoot down the idea immediately, was appraising her instead. Like he was actually giving Barton's absurd idea consideration. She must have hit her head. This could not be happening.

"Is this true, Miss Romanova?" Fury asked her, nothing polite about his inquiry. He was a spy gathering information about his target. There was a reason he was the leader of the best secret organization in the world. Because he knew how to get exactly what he wanted.

Natasha considered. Barton had just thrown her a lifeline. A chance for her to start over from scratch, without her past hanging over her. To do something good, to help people like Barton had helped her. With S.H.I.E.L.D. she could take down other Red Rooms. She could spare girls like her who were living a lie, blood on their hands before they even understood what that meant, what that could do to their soul.

"I'll do whatever you want," Natasha told Fury, her chin tilted up.

He raised an eyebrow. "Just like that? No loyalties to hold onto? You're going to walk away from you life?"

"I work for myself. Right now, S.H.I.E.L.D. and I have something in common."

"Is that right? And what would that be?"

"You're trying to bring down the Red Room," she said.

Fury inclined his head. "We are, and all groups like it."

"I have dreamed for years of burning that place to the ground. If you can do that, I will gladly work for S.H.I.E.L.D., do whatever you wish, whenever you wish."

"You should know that S.H.I.E.L.D. values loyalty and commitment to our cause, Miss Romanova. To protecting people. Something you have not shown yourself to be capable of."

"About that," Barton interjected. Natasha and Fury turned to the agent. He sent a holographic picture hovering over the Director's desk. "The only thing the Black Widow cares about. My men were unable to identify this man, he's not in any databases. I used him to get her to meet with me. She's shown quite a bit of concern for his life."

"You bastard," Natasha hissed. He'd promised to leave James out of this!

Fury, however, seemed to have a change of heart with Barton's revelation. He looked back at the girl. "So you're a people person. The cause can burn, as long as those you care about are safe." She didn't say anything, which he knew meant that the answer was yes. "It's your lucky day, Miss Romanova. I'm a people person too. But not just for one person. The whole world. I wonder if you can open your heart that much. For all the other children of the world who have suffered, are suffering, like you have."

Fury met her eyes. "Would you mind telling me who the man was?"

"James," she said with a smirk.

"I take it that isn't his real name. Would you like to be more cooperative?"

"He never told me his name. I only ever called him James."

"I see." That didn't sound good. "We will be putting you in containment while we decide what to do with you."

That was fair, and much more along the lines of what she had been expecting. She was a killer. They were the good guys. She knew that. Barton took her arm and escorted her out of the room. He was grinning like a madman, looking like he was about to start whistling and skipping down l. She frowned at him.

"Fury likes you, I can tell," Barton told her. "He'll want to keep you around. He probably won't trust you for a while. That'll change though, if you do want to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. Sorry for springing that on you. I figured you'd rather work for us than get killed by us. And since I'm the vouching for you, I'd appreciate it that if you go rogue, you kill me on the way out so Fury won't have a chance to say I told you so."

She almost smiled. Barton was likable. Nice, funny, stubborn, strong, and smart. Even Fury had seemed to respect the Agent. She found it strange that Barton had respect. He was only a few years older than her and she had almost never had respect. The name Black Widow had respect, but when people saw her they assumed she was a little girl. They wouldn't waste their time assessing her. It was helpful for her career, but infuriating. At S.H.I.E.L.D. it seemed as if getting results trumped seniority. And Barton knew how to produce results.

"You'll probably only be in containment for a few days. I'll visit. Maybe I can convince Fury to let me be your S.O. It most likely won't happen, since I did go against orders."

"S.O.?" she asked, while always paying attention to every hallway and door they passed. She needed to learn as much as she could about S.H.I.E.L.D. in as little time as she could. Luckily, Barton seemed unconcerned about letting her see the facility, happy to chat with her.

"Supervising officer. Like a mentor. In charge of new S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. You'll probably skip all the typical training, given your talents."

* * *

Barton turned out to be right. Natasha spent exactly one week in containment. One incredibly boring week. The long hours spent alone were only brightened up by the few times Barton came to visit her. They'd talk for hours every time he dropped by, about S.H.I.E.L.D., and what the superiors were saying about her. He seemed confident she would head back to the United States with himself and Fury. She had first treated these talks as a time to gather intelligence, but quickly she realized she enjoyed them. She would even find herself looking forward to his next visit.

When they finally released her and allowed her to start working for S.H.I.E.L.D. they assigned Agent Phil Coulson as her S.O. Barton was disappointed, but Natasha wasn't. Coulson was stern, experienced, and accepted only the best work from his students. Something Natasha was familiar with. She soon discovered that Coulson had more heart than all of S.H.I.E.L.D. put together. They became friends quickly. Trust took a few more years and many near death experiences to acquire.

She soon learned that where Barton and Coulson were, Hill was three of them seemed to be the agents closest to the Director, and Natasha had somehow stumbled into the top ranks. Before she could believe it, she was a Specialist, one of the best in all of S.H.I.E.L.D. Her and Barton were the ones selected for the toughest missions, the ones allowed to see Fury directly whenever they needed to.

The years she spent working for S.H.I.E.L.D. were the best of her life. She finally felt like she was doing something important, something good. Her skills were valued and recognized, even if trust was still hard to come by. She grew especially close to Barton during that time. Black Widow and Hawkeye.

* * *

She saw James many years later, and it was nothing at all like the reunion she'd imagined in the dark of night.

She was in Iran, and she had been charged with protecting a nuclear engineer. She didn't know all the details, only that Fury had felt the engineer was important enough to warrant the Black Widow's protection. That meant it was serious. As they were nearing Odessa she saw a figure in black standing in the middle of the road, a gun raised. Before she could duck or swerve, he fired. The tires went out and she lost control of the car. In the split second she realized that they were going to go over the cliff, she dove in the direction of the engineer and shielded his body as best she could.

They fell, and then they slammed into the hard ground, metal crumpling and things exploding. The airbags went off and her arm shattered at the impact, broken glass cutting into her skin. But she was awake and her legs were unharmed and not trapped. With a little painful squirming, she busted open her door and crawled out into the hot desert. Everything hurt, but she still had a job to do. James—the Winter Soldier—was nowhere in sight. She stumbled over to the other side of the car and hauled the unconscious engineer out. He had a giant, bleeding gash on his forehead. She didn't have any of the right supplies to treat him with. She started dragging him away from the wreck. Once they were away from the smoke and flames, she laid him on the ground. Panting, she scanned the area.

There. The Winter Soldier, still on the cliffs above, laying on the ground in sniper position, gun trained on her. No—on the engineer. She stepped in front of him, determined to shield her charge, and then a gunshot filled the air.

She looked down at the bleeding hole in her stomach. Nonfatal. She pressed her hand to the bleeding, the pain not kicking in yet. The Soldier was gone. She turned around and froze as she saw the engineer with a clean shot through his chest. She didn't even bother check for a pulse. There wouldn't be one. The Winter Soldier never missed. And she hadn't been his target.

When she gave her report to Fury from her hospital bed hours later, she left out the detail that she knew the shooter. That he was the same man whose name she had screamed with such feeling years ago that Clint had decided to spare her life. She didn't bother try and understand why she did it. Fury bought her story. He trusted her now. That was his mistake. He no longer searched her every word for a lie. He would have found several this time.

James was gone. Only the Soldier was left. She knew that now. Next time she saw him, she couldn't allow herself to be distracted, not like she'd done this time. One man was already dead. There would be no more innocent bodies because of her.


	7. Chapter 7

The world was thrown into chaos with the advent of the age of superheroes, when one man by the name of Tony Stark said four simple words on national television.

"I am Iron Man."

Soon after, there was a man who had a monster inside him, a god from another realm, and a soldier from out of time. She couldn't believe how strange the world had become since she and James had pretended to be a normal couple in the streets of Moscow, in their little house by the Bolshoi. She found herself longing for those days sometimes. Then she remembered that those days had not been as perfect as she wanted to pretend. That they'd been full of uncertainty and lies, even between each other. But there'd been love, too. As much love as a assassin who didn't know his name and a girl who had no heart could give each other.

The Avengers formed. Aliens descended from the sky. She met Steve Rogers, the real Captain America, and was struck by how his eyes reminded her of James. Such pain and wisdom lingered in the eyes of someone so young. Biologically young, at least.

It was months after the sky tore open that the Winter Soldier resurfaced.

By that time she had resigned herself to the fact that James was gone. But she'd made a promise that no one else would die by his hand, not when she had failed to stop him before. A promise she'd broken, and now Fury, the closest thing she'd ever had to a father, was dead, because of her failure. Fury didn't even know that she'd failed him. She had never told him about her relation to the Soldier. She didn't know why. But she knew it was time to stop protecting the Soldier.

So when Steve slammed her into a wall in an empty hospital room, she blurted out something that she had kept secret for years.

"I know who the man who shot Fury is."

She spun a tale about the Winter Soldier, like the girls in the Red Room had all those years ago when she was a child. Steve bought it. He was no spy. And nothing she told him had been a lie. She had just left out the important, personal bits, but it wasn't like they'd be able to use her connection to James. James was gone. HYDRA had wiped her from his mind, and she couldn't beat him in a fight alone. To be honest, she wasn't even sure Steve, even with the super-soldier serum pumping through his veins, would be able to beat the Soldier.

She knew Steve would try anyways.

She knew Steve would die trying when he realized that the Winter Soldier was his best friend.

 _James_ "Bucky" Buchanan Barnes. Her James was Captain America's best friend from the forties, a Howling Commando who had been believed dead during the war. But he wasn't dead. Steve explained to her how James—how _Bucky_ —had been experimented on by Zola during the war. She let Steve fill in the dots about what HYDRA had done to Bucky after that. Natasha knew that if she opened her mouth she would reveal that she knew more than she had let on.

It was another few years after the Soldier pulled Steve's unconscious body out of the water before she saw James— _Bucky_ —again. She couldn't think of him as James anymore. She could immediately tell that they weren't the same. Bucky was less confused, more conflicted and sad than her James had been. Bucky smiled easier and was less paranoid.

She tried to stand by Stark during the so-called Civil War. She believed in the Sokovia Accords, and she believed that the Avengers needed to be kept in check. She hated the way it tore apart the family she'd found for herself and helped build. Fighting them in the parking lot was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. Turning on Stark, who had actually come to mean something to her over the years, was hard.

But she could tell Steve wouldn't stop. That he would keep going, going, going until he was sure that Bucky, his best friend, was safe. And she remembered a night years ago when she had sacrificed everything she had to save the same man.

So she shot T'Challa, giving Steve and Bucky the time to escape. She regretted that too. T'Challa had just lost his father and she had promised him a chance to see Barnes punished, and then turned on him. Hopefully, he would forgive her one day.

Tony was the one she should have been worried about. Even with most of their friends already locked up in the hellhole called the Raft, a few more of them on the run, the government was coming after her next. For violating the Sokovia Accords by aiding in Rogers' and Barnes' escape. The genius was in such a dark place after Siberia that he pushed her away too.

So she went back on the run. None of her homes seemed to last for long. The house by the Bolshoi, her S.H.I.E.L.D. apartment, and now the Avengers Facility. All gone. She was no longer hopeful enough to believe she'd be able to return. Which left one option: joining Rogers, Wilson, and Barnes on the run. T'Challa had let her know they were in his country.

She arrived days after the others, and apparently that had been enough time for Bucky to decide to go back into cryo-freeze while Shuri worked on fixing his brain. He would have to be put under for an indefinite amount of time starting tomorrow. She would be leaving with Steve and Sam right after that. Just because the U.N. didn't think they were Avengers anymore didn't mean that they didn't have a responsibility to protect the world.

That didn't leave them with much time, but she could tell she and Bucky wanted the same thing. They both excused themselves from dinner early and she followed him through the Wakandan palace to a balcony overlooking the jungle. They stood side by side, bathed in moonlight. He spoke first.

"I remember you," he said, just like he had when she was fifteen years old. His voice was different. When she was little he had said it in awe. Now, he said it with amusement. Like it was an old inside joke. She supposed it kind of was.

"Good," she said. She noticed that they were the same age now. "I'd hate to be forgotten."

"I did forget for a while."

"I know. But it wasn't your choice. You were the one who told me that."

He smiled. "I was just trying to make you feel better. I hated that they could take you away from me." Silence fell between them. She could hear waterfalls somewhere in the jungle and soft music drifting through the palace. "I loved you, Natasha."

"And I loved James," she told him, an smirk curling at her lips. "But you're not quite James anymore. And I'm not Natasha, not the same one you knew."

"You're right," he agreed, looking peaceful as he stared at her. "I was worried you'd be mad at me. For staying away all these years. For avoiding you. I didn't know what to do. Neither of us were us. You'd moved on, made something amazing out of your life. I didn't think you still cared for me."

"I do care for you. I knew if you were staying away from me then you must have your reasons. Just like your choice to go into cryo. I helped convince Steve that it was your decision."

"Thank you. He can be as stubborn as you," Bucky said, and for the first time she really felt like she saw him for who he really was. A boy from Brooklyn who loved his best friend more than anything else.

She took in his face. He'd grown a slight beard, and his hair was longer. His metal arm was gone, blasted off by Tony's repulsors. He was different in ways much deeper than the physical though.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad that you have a chance at peace. You deserve it."

"So do you. You threw everything away to help us. What will you do now?"

She strode away, calling over her shoulder, "I've got shit to avenge."

She heard his deep laugh and smiled to herself. Sure, that relationship was definitely over, but there was hope for both of them to find happiness now. It was about damn time.

* * *

 **That's the end, everyone. Thank you so much to everyone who read, reviewed, and favorited this story. Thank you to Beauty In Her Darkness for being my Beta. And to those of you who haven't yet, please leave a review. I love to hear from my readers. New stories on the way soon!**

 **Love, Lady of Lorule**


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